


Sense and Solitude

by sciencer



Category: Basic Instinct (Movies), Hannibal (TV), Mænd & høns | Men & Chicken (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 19th Century, M/M, Masturbation, Non-Consensual Touching, pride and prejudice au, what historical accuracy?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2017-01-03
Packaged: 2018-09-14 14:27:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9186233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sciencer/pseuds/sciencer
Summary: A man may not be able to help his nature - the blood that runs through him is his, and his alone. He may not be able to help his upbringing - traditions, whether societal or familial, are the backbone of his identity. But, as is the base constitution of humanity, he may be able to help another.Featuring Adam as (sort of) Elizabeth and Elias as (sort of) Mr. Darcy.





	1. Tolerable Enough to Tempt

**Author's Note:**

> happy basic chickens week dudes! I was hoping to have this mostly finished by now but christmas is hell :'( so this is a quite short wip that will definitely be completed (at some point). I really wanted to do a fic set in this time but the exact year that pride n prej came out was pretty shitty for the danish (and gay men), so this is pretty unrealistic. But hey, romance, drama, chickens! What more could you want?

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a man broken by loneliness may choose to find companionship in the most unconventional of places.

However little known the feelings of such a man on his first entering a neighbourhood, this truth sows its seeds in the background of the surrounding families, who brandished another man’s loneliness as a weapon.

“Mr. Towers, did you read the terribly good news?”

Mr. Towers lent forward with a mocking gasp, “The clergy has _finally_ disposed of Peter?”

“If he were, it would be because of _your_ ministrations. No, no, Mr. Towers, something far more interesting… The original owners of Ork Island Park have returned, a tribe of brothers, it seems. Though a sister or two may be trotting along yet to be presented…”

“Mrs. Glass, I do believe your obsession with finding me a wife is so you may place yourself at the head of our wedding.”

“Adam Towers, you are almost thirty years old, practically a spinster-” She threw up her hands in frustration. “You are missing the point! We are so often complaining about the boredom in this countryside - let’s hope these men are the silliest creatures in the town so we have something more to gossip about than Mrs. Tremell’s new bonnet!”

Adam nodded. “I always wondered what breed of man would name his country house so. Silly indeed.”

Mrs Glass lowered her voice to a hush. “One issue - they may be of English ancestry, but they are Danes at heart.”

Adam put his hands on his cheeks, nearing glee. “No! However do they expect to survive a shire? The soldiers are to winter here, you know.”

“How do you-? Nevermind. But yes, they must be quite clueless indeed.”

“Rats from a sinking ship.”

“My husband is visiting them now, I assume men like that are in dire need of a doctor. Although he might just be foolish enough to invite them to the assembly, or God forbid, _here_. I will not host Danes, however interesting they may be.”

Adam shook his head. “I should like to know these Danes. Never let a war get in the way of a good story, Mrs. Glass.”

Mrs. Glass scoffed, but before she could make any witty reply, the sound of hooves on gravel announced the arrival of her husband. She shooed Adam from his seat, the man rolling his eyes at her but complying at the sounds of boot steps outside the door. He was on the opposite side of the room the second her foreboding husband flounced inside, barely sparing either of them a glance. He dropped into the armchair opposite his wife, boneless and silent as he looked off into space.

“Well, husband? How are our new neighbours? Any… hidden sisters or daughters?” Adam threw up his hands from his perch at the windowsill behind the master of the house’s back.

Mr. Glass’s eyes darted in her direction before focusing on the unlit fireplace. He sighed. “Only men, Denise. Barely…”

Mrs. Glass shook her head in confusion. “Whatever do you mean by that?”

Her husband leaned forward minutely, a mannerism he managed to pick up from the brief moments he spends in her company. “They are absolute _animals_ , Denise. They will never fit into _any_ society, let alone Hertfordshire.”

Adam just barely contained his gleeful punch in the air.

 

Adam’s wish came true sooner than he had hoped. It was at the next assembly, a few days later, where he would finally encounter the infamous brothers. He had arrived late, just short of fashionably so, and Denise had rushed to his side.

Adam always adored the sport of balls, even tiny local socials like these, where the people are soft and pliable and a dance can be traded for information. The ladies were in their finery and their ribbons glistened across the town hall, laughter ringing above the jig. Secrets were exchanged around the edges of the room, and at this point in the night, people had begun to forget the loudness of their own voices. This was a room Adam could command.

Denise smiled conspiratory at him, beige dress strategic in their subterfuge. “ _They’re here_ ,” she whispered under the noise of the piano. “The brothers, the Danish ones. In the corner, talking to the bookkeeper-”

“Mr. Ferguson.”

“-yes, whatever his name. My husband informed me that he had the misfortune of meeting the five brothers, but only two are here today. Look! There they are now.”

At her words, Adam noticed the new additions to the company of regular faces - a small, stocky owl-eyed man with a distinct hairlip, chatting amiably next to an unassuming red haired woman, occasionally sending worried glances behind him at a taller man perusing the crowd with an upturned nose. This man chose to cover his matching hairlip with a trimmed moustache, and while the two must be brothers, there was something… different about the two. There was a wildness to this brother compared to the refinery of the other, maybe in the kink of his curls, or the fire in his eyes, or the jut of his cheekbones-

The man, as if feeling the weight of Adam’s appraisal, turned and met Adam’s eyes across the glowing bustle of the assembly. His eyes widened in shock, his chest visibly heaving with the intake of breath, and his hand came up to brush through his hair, as though fixing his appearance. It was so preposterously childlike for such a towering man, almost seeming to shrink in his frame. He was somewhat handsome, if one were so inclined, Adam supposed.

The eye contact stuck awkwardly until Adam smiled with his signature fake demureness, causing the receiver to jump out of his skin and quickly jerk away, alerting his brother. The owlish brother put his hand on the other’s shoulder, and just his touch seemed to comfort.

Adam stepped forward, feet moving of their own accord, but before he could investigate the peculiar man any further he was accosted by a familiar troupe of the most persistent unattached women in Meryton. It would destruct his character should he be anything but charming, however uninterested he was in their advances, but he found himself distracted by the poorly sly glances thrown over the women’s shoulders from across the room. If Adam were to excuse the lighting, he might say that the man, for all his scowling brutishness, was blushing. Of course, that would be entirely silly.

While Adam was most certainly the most eligible bachelor at the ball, his obvious disinterest in courting gave way to another opportunity for the women: a town crier. He was a remarkable storyteller and yet despised fiction. He only dealt in useful stories; therefore only dealt with useful people. Gossip was a story that directly affected one’s reality, a rarity in their lifetimes. Which is why he often found himself paraded around these assemblies like a prized, but witty, pig.

As he was careened about the hall, the object of interest of both men and women alike, he lost track of the polarising brothers. He could have sworn he felt a set of eyes on him, but could never discern from which direction they came, despite his well honed animalistic instincts. It must have been near centuries later, when he finally became acquainted with the Danes, called over after a dance by one of his troupe to a secluded corner, one brother open and smiling, the other very pointedly admiring a painting. Adam made sure to stand in his periphery.

“Mr. Gabriel Thanatos, Mr. Elias Thanatos, I would like to introduce a dear friend of mine, Mr. Adam Towers.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Towers. I have been hearing tales of you all night.” Gabriel politely shook his hand. Elias made no such move. His brother glared and muttered in what Adam assumed was Danish, until Elias turned and gave a curt nod of acknowledgement. Just when Adam thought he would run, the man jerked and stayed put. His hand came up to peel at the varnish of the frame of the painting.

To Adam’s utter surprise, he began to speak, accent heavier than his counterpart’s. “This assembly is tolerable, but cannot compare to our far more serviceable affairs back home. I am unable to understand how you could suffer through such uncivilised behaviour on a regular basis.”

Gabriel stared at his brother, clearly more bewildered than ever since he had entered the hall, huffing a sigh of frustration. Before he could begin his rehearsed apology, Adam spoke up.

“I find no pleasure in civilisation. I dare say I shall find no pleasure in a Danish assembly, according to your _serviceable_ description. You shall find no peer in me, sir.”

Elias jerked backwards, face starkingly red, eyes wide and pale, mouth gaping for some sort of reply. Gabriel, once more, began to speak, but his shocked brother interrupted him.

“It is quite disagreeable and boorish of you to assume that _I_ would be searching for a peer in _you_. I am a man cut from a far more capable breed.”

Gabriel pulled at his brother’s arm to drag him away, murmuring about culture shock, but Adam blocked Elias’s way. “What are you trying to insinuate by _that_?” Adam never let an man go without having his last word.

Elias was near sneering now. “I am saying that _I_ am clearly of a masculine manner, and yet _you_ traipse around the assembly with the visage and countenance of a common harlot! You are a shame on your sex!”

The affair had begun to attract attention, frantic whispering across the hall, the music drowning to a hush. Gabriel’s grip must be bruising now. Elias looked like a bull ready to pounce. Adam could only find it in himself to be entirely amused.

“On the contrary, I have been told that I am quite a rare harlot indeed.” He closed with a warm, but barely sincere smile, the one that had seemingly riled up the man before.

The tension in the room dropped to a lower gauge, and in the distance Adam could swear he heard Denise’s laugh. Gabriel gawped at Adam, and loosed his grip on his brother’s arm in his bemusement. Elias paled, now staring at Adam in confusion, eyes glazing over as he scrutinised the man before him.

His eyes widened, and a noise caught in his throat somewhere close to a choke. He ripped himself from his brother’s arms, pushing past Adam, careful to not brush shoulders as he did so. He stormed from the hall, grumbling under his breath. Adam turned to watch the compelling man go, his brother fast rushing behind him, frantically apologising to anyone in the assembly who would listen.

Adam tied down his grin, but could not hold down his mirth when the woman who had introduced him turned and whispered, “You are _really_ terrible sometimes.”

He laughed loud enough for the whole congregation to hear, “Am I?”


	2. A Pair Of Fine Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did you see the tags change? jane austen would be appalled.
> 
> sorry for the long wait! but here it is ᕕ{ ͒ ʖ̯ ͒ }ᕗ

It was not a week later when Adam would find himself graced once more by the abnormality that is Elias Thanatos. In the days succeeding the assembly, the brothers had been ostracised for his behaviour, despite the pleadings and public apologies of the more agreeable Gabriel. The man seemed at the end of his tether, running around the town with a fine sheen of sweat permanent on his brow. Seeing him at the market, Adam took pity. The offence was against him after all, and in no way did Adam feel offended.

As Adam approached the man, he began to back up, looking for an escape route. Before he had the chance, Adam tried to disarm him with a smile, as friendly as he could muster.

“Mr. Thanatos! Fortunate that I should run into you here.”

Gabriel still eyed him with suspicion. “Y-yes, most fortunate. I must give you my most sincere-”

Adam cut him off. “No need for that! Although I have noticed your severe unpopularity as of late, and I fear it is caused by my negligence.”

Gabriel began to protest but Adam raised his hand to silence him. “This must be remedied. Whatever shall we do?”

Gabriel was taken aback and visibly stumped as he tried to take in Adam’s words. “We could… host a ball?”

Adam shook his head. “No, no, who in their right mind would show up to that? As of right now, _I_ am the one who was slighted, so I suppose that we should make it seem as though that assembly debaucle is merely a folly that led to a _serviceable_ friendship.”

Gabriel nodded in agreement. “However would we do that?”

Adam paused, pretending as though this wasn’t his object in the first place. “How about… you… invite me to dine at Ork Park, and maybe afterwards I tell tales of my _dear_ friends the Thanatoses?”

“It’s Ork _Island_ Park. And yes, that sounds like a canny plan!”

Adam sighed, “Is there no way to change the name?”

Gabriel shook his head, staring off into the distance. “No. I’ve tried.”

 

*

 

When Adam had initially made the proposal, he had the imaginings of an utter disaster in mind. For the past two days he had been mostly curt about the dinner to others, knowing the inordinate amount of obsequiousness he would have to partake in after the fact. Of course, if it were to be a truly abhorrent night, well, the Thanthoses could not fault him for simply telling the truth. Denise would have him hanged.

When he had initially made the proposal, he had not imagined in the slightest that he would genuinely enjoy it. Fate can be fickle like that.

There were five brothers in all, it seemed; their own people, but still obviously connected. They argued incessantly and yet it seemed to stem from their shared passions, however banal. Underneath the threats of violence and oratory, there was a sense that there was no where else these men would rather be. As familial as it gets.

The exception being Gabriel, who had obviously laid out the seating plan for minimum calamity, and seated himself as a buffer between Adam and the head of the table, the self appointed disciplinarian, Fritz. Elias sat to Adam’s right at the other end of the table, a stroke of genius on Gabriel’s part, the man rendered uncommonly sullen by the close proximity.

“Mr. Towers, are you fond of cheese?” The smaller brother, Gregor, asked out of the blue, mid arguing about the best kind of dairy cow.

“I am terribly fond of any dairy product, but I would not venture so far as to say I have a particular inclination for… cheese.” In any other circle, this conversation would bore the daylights out of him. Here, he braced himself for an uproar.

Elias was even shocked out of his silence. “That is because Middle England society is only taken with _French_ cheese, utterly inferior to the magnificent _Danish_ cheese, therefore you should never realise what a finer cheese can be!”

His little outburst set the other brothers nodding in fervent agreement. Gabriel could only stare at his plate, empty. Elias stared at Adam, waiting for a response.

“Then, I should need to test your hypothesis, if we are to be truly scientific about this claim.”

The beam of sun that lit up Elias’s face when genuinely smiled for the first time almost made up for the prospect of scientific cheese tasting. Almost.

Josef, the portly serious brother beside Gregor, took this time to pipe in. “Elias! Your plate is plain!”

Sure enough, underneath the gravy, was a clear china plate, and Elias looked down bashfully.

Gregor joined in, alarmed. “Where is the bull plate? Who took it?”

Elias did not reply, but look up at Adam through his eyelashes, a shy smile on his face. Adam was struck with the image of blushing women as they try to charm their way into his pocket - in any case, Elias must have kinder intentions. Adam did not have to look down to know the animal on his plate. He felt the other brothers gaping at him in awe.

Fritz jumped into action, banging his cutlery on the table, cutting in with fast paced Danish. Adam recognised the words _Elias_ and _man_. Elias fired back in quick succession and soon an argument broke out. A large portion of the night had fared like this. When Gabriel realised Adam had no qualms about being an outsider in the middle of it, he usually clued Adam in. Now, he stared at them shock, words in his mouth dying before they could be said.

“If you need me to swap the plate, I don’t mind at all, no need to get in a tiff about it…” As Adam spoke, Elias went silent and turned to him, red with embarrassment.

“That is a fine plate and should you dislike like it so-”

“Well- I like the plate fine-”

Elias shook his head. “Please do not interrupt again. What is wrong with the plate? Do you not like bulls?”

Adam smiled, confused. “There’s nothing wrong with the plate and well- I may be a country boy but I’ve never come into contact with a bull, so I really cannot pass judgment on whether they are likeable.”

Elias smiled again, that rare warmth that still gave Adam a shock every time. “Then I must acquaint you with one! We have a bull in the stable, Isak, I do not like him very much but he is the only one we have.”

Adam nodded his head, hoping this would end the hullabaloo. “Then we shall see him after dinner. All settled.”

Elias nodded his head, giddy as a child, Fritz grumbling at the other end. The other two brothers started off on another conversation, either about philosophy or cheese, and Gabriel, defeated, sat silent. Adam could only think about the little glances that turn into little stares coming from beside him, and found himself glancing back.

 

*

 

The next morning, Adam woke up to the sound of scratching. Early morning sunlight streamed through a moth bitten curtain, and lumps of bed poked at his back, making his entire body ache. White sheets covered most of the furniture in the room, a clear sheen of dust on the ground. A chicken sat on the windowsill, tapping impatiently. This was not Adam’s room.

He got off the bed in degrees, bones creaking. He creeped groggily to the window, the chicken looking up at him with expectant beady eyes. The day outside was as foggy as he felt, sleep still straining at the corners of his eyes. He opened the window, letting the chicken cluck at his ankles. A poorly kept ledge ran under the windows, connecting it to the other rooms. Another of the chicken’s daring brethren pecked along another windowsill, and Adam leaned out to bid it good morning.

The chicken replied with a faint “G-good-” and a thud.

No wait, that came from below. Adam leaned down over the ledge, and sure enough, a white-faced Elias sat sprawled on the ground, sputtering, a trough knocked over beside him. He stared up, seemingly lost for words. Were chickens really so unusual?

Adam looked down, and noticed that he was in nothing but his drawers, sheer in the morning dampness. With any other man, he might have been shy, maybe would have pulled over the curtain. Elias continued to stare.

“Lovely morning, isn’t it, Mr. Thanathos?” Adam called down, hoping to pull the man out of his stumblings. “If you forgive the name, Ork Island Park is quite a view.” The vista was quite formidable in the fog, the rolling moors dappled with sunlight peeking out from the trees. It was certainly more refreshing than Adam’s usual view.

Staring out at the fields, Adam failed to notice that Elias had collected himself but still stared up in some kind of confusion.

“Mr. Thanathos, please refresh for me just how I found myself asleep in one of your rooms?” When Adam looked down on the man, he was admiring the ground, hands fidgeting.

“W-well, we saw Isak like you wanted, then you wanted to go for a walk, then we sat in the parlour, and then you-”

“Yes, I know how I fell asleep, I want to know how I would end up sleeping _here_.”

Elias looked up at him then, a little shocked. “I carried you!”

Adam rifled a hand through his hair, expectedly unruly. “Why did you not just wake me up?”

Elias took a step back, brows furrowing. “That would be rude. I have to be kind to our guests.”

Adam looked around himself for a moment, meeting eyes with the chicken on the window ledge before leaning back to Elias. “Do you have to undress them too?”

With that, Elias jumped in his skin, rushing into the sanctuary of the house with a whimper. The chicken clucked at Adam, as if admonishing him for his unfair behaviour. Adam laughed at it. “I know, I know. He’s just so darling when he’s flustered.”

 

*

 

Elias despised Adam Towers. No, loathed. No, absolutely abhorred. The very sight of the man made him utterly nauseous. It must have been because of his all-consuming hatred, yes - that was why he could not tear his gaze away from the man whenever they were in each other’s vicinity. It was his fault, for speaking like that, with that hair and those eyes and those thighs - Elias was not sure that he had ever thought about another man’s thighs so much. Out of pure hatred, of course.

His hatred could not explain away everything. It could not explain why he gave the man his favourite plate, or why he offered to educate him on farm animals (of which the boy was willfully ignorant), or why, when he fell asleep in the parlour, deft head lulling onto Elias’s shoulder, he let it lie there for some time, relishing in the tickle of wispy hair against his skin.

It also could not explain why his heart halted at the sight of the other’s smile and why now, in the safety of the upstairs toilet, he pulled down his breeches to palm himself under his drawers. The sight of the man’s bare skin in daylight crashed him. At least last night it had been dark, though he remembers with a cringe how even the feel of velvety skin had crashed him so.

It was not like this was an unusual occurrence for him. His problem arose at puberty and subsisted throughout his life, the shame sinking him down. He had tried not to alleviate it for months, giving into good old Christian fear, until Gabriel had walked in on him rutting against a chest of drawers, and he had had enough. He told Elias, with all his wisdom, that if the Bible had it wrong about stoning and Galileo then it probably bungled some other issues. If one had a burning need to touch oneself in order to be a functioning human being, then the Bible can’t exactly complain.

He’d never really thought of anyone in particular. Always a womanly shape with a womanly voice, but it seems that in recent times his definition of womanly had gotten too broad for comfort. It was that meeting, at that damned so-called assembly, that something broke and Elias felt something he hadn’t felt in years - a change. The musical voice, the sunny smile, the glowing eyes - they all conspired against Elias to do _something_ inflammatory. Womanly indeed.

A sharp noise of a door banging downstairs made Elias almost fall over. This house must have been built by gossipmongers, the walls so unreasonably thin. Below in the library, a soft murmur of voices drifted up, the distinct shout of Gregor asking why he would ever want to see this dust pile, and Elias caught his breath at the distant chime of the laughter of an Englishman as it seemed to ring about the house.

Elias started stroking. The door of the library closed again, but when Elias knelt down to put his ear again the floorboards, he could just about hearken muted sounds of rustling books and an occasional groan in exertion. Elias began to pick up the pace. Somewhere, a voice in his head said that this was an utterly destructive idea, and would unnaturally endear himself to such behaviour in the future. Another voice, a reticent but intrusive one, like a mockingbird in a hurricane, told him to go down and ask Adam what he thought.

Elias choose defiantly to not listen to either voice and listened to the floor below, gone silent. Elias’s breathing started to get so heavy he thought he would choke, and out of some unruly corner of his mind arose a picture of Adam’s naked body in the moonlight of the night before. Elias whined before he realised what he was doing.

“...Hello? Is there somebody up there?”

Elias stopped at the sound of the muffled voice from below. He remained perfectly still as he listened to the distinct sound of a chair scraping across the floor, his hand unmoving. The chair stopped, and for a moment, the silence hung in the air.

“Is that you?” The voice was directly below him now and for certain was that of Adam. Elias frantically searched the floorboards beneath him for signs of wear, praying to a God who was undeniably disappointed in him that there was no possibility Adam could miraculously see through the floor. It would be quite a sight. Elias tried to move away but his hand slipped along his length and he unwittingly groaned.

“...Elias?” Elias spasmed, a white spurt streaking across the floorboards, a deep groan escaping him louder than ever before. Adam had to have heard that, it was unmistakable. Elias panted for dear life, pleasure giving way to fear. Everyone in the town would know what an utter aberration he was. Adam would regale the whole of Meryton about this godless creature, who had abandoned decorum at the first sign of kindness. He might be burnt at the stake. They probably still do that kind of thing in England.

Through his panicking, Elias failed to hear the soft laughter from below. “Elias, you may come down and read with me should you please.”

Elias almost wept.


End file.
